Defiance
by Baliansword
Summary: Fed up with Alexander's defiance, especially in front of foreign ambassadors, Philip will do anything to break his son's spirit, even if it means removing Hephaestion from his bed, instead entertaining him in his own. AH, slight H/Philip...ick...
1. One

**Title**: Defiance

**Author**: Baliansword

**Rating**: PG-13

**Chapter**: 1 of ?

**Summary**: Fed up with Alexander's defiance, especially in front of foreign ambassadors, Philip will use any means necessary to break his son's spirit, even if it means removing Hephaestion from his bed, and taking him into his own.

**Warnings**: There will be heavy sexual content, mild language, mild violence. I warn you now, because I might forget to later.

**A/N**: This is for _Jessica_, because she's been my advisor as of late, picking her favorite of my ideas. However, this is also for _Mary_, because without you I would probably stop writing –and he's my attempt at being better.

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_340 BC….Meiza, Macedonia…_

The sun was just breaking over the horizon, rays of orange and yellows that could not be outdone by the pure gold striking the ground, the same rays then reflecting off of the treaded dirt ground, creating an illuminating effect. Already a slow breeze was gathering the small pebbles of dirt on the ground, pushing them across fields and into the tall grasses, their blades varying from darkened-yellow to vivid olives and jades. As the sun was rising those in Meiza were beginning to wake, stretching stiffened muscles from their uncomfortable pallets, yawning, pouring cups of goat milk and water, urging children to rise as well. This, however, was life outside of the great palace, outside of the fortress meant to keep him in. Brooding, the prince ran a hand through his hair, scratching sand away from his scalp. While others were waking, his morning had already come and gone. Before the sun had risen, before the first cock had thought of crowing, he had woken, without help, and had laced his grieves, tightened his chiton, prepared for a day of relentless training that would be just as the last had. For three years it had been the same, waking up, training, eating breakfast, having a few sheltered moments alone, and then it was off to Aristotle, who spoke more and more of a world that Alexander feared he would never see. Greece even seemed far away now, and it was practically out their backdoor. How would he reach Persia if he was not trusted to leave a palace? Sighing, he stepped away, forgetting the sight of the sun outside. As he turned, he kept himself from starting, even though Hephaestion had made no sound approaching, given no sign that he watched him. Then again, Hephaestion was as predictable as his days; they were one in the same. Waking up, he would meet Hephaestion in the hall, exchanging secret glances as they were approached by Alexander's other companions. Then, in training, they would be paired together, and day after day, no matter what it seemed to be, Hephaestion would best Alexander. It was unfair, but it made Alexander want to better himself, to compete against Hephaestion. They would then spend these secret moments together, eat lunch in some secluded area, under a tree who's trunk would hide them from on looking eyes, and when it came time to meet with Aristotle, they would walk hand in hand together. Approaching danger, their hands would fall away, and throughout lectures Hephaestion would be the brilliant one, the true scholar amongst them all. As night came, they would dine, Alexander would sadly watch him go, but there was always a reason to hope. From time to time they would find a way to sneak into the other's room, past guards that should have kept them apart, and through the night they would hold one another in secret embraces. Yet, just as today, Hephaestion would always be gone before the cock thought of crowing, and the day would come, driving them apart until Fate once more handed them the gift of Time.

"I am glad you are not some foreign emissary," Alexander exhaled, immediately glad to be in Hephaestion's presence. There was something about his being that calmed his spirit. Hephaestion was striking, he could not deny, especially when the sunlight glinted against his bronzed skin, his chest rippling with muscles endowed through their training. His thighs, which Alexander could not help but glance at, were much the same, toned over the years, and perfectly chiseled, powerful. Cascading hair fell below his shoulders, several shades of chocolate, auburn, nutmeg, foreign coffee beans, and dark bronzes and gold swirling about his strong shoulders, and framing his perfectly sculpted face. Soft crimson lips, slightly plump for a male, laid against his defined chin and muscular jaw, set now in a straight line as he watched Alexander. However, it was his eyes moreover that captivated the young prince, cerulean, the color of the Mediterranean Sea, and the fortune tellers of Hephaestion's very soul. Yes, had he not fallen in love with his mind first, he truly would have eventually ravished his body as well. Hephaestion, as always, seemed to know what he was thinking and blushed, casting his eyes to the ground before shyly looking up. How strange, to be so shy around the only one who loved him, but still, he was. Had he stood before a room of orators he would have commanded attention, here, on the contrary, he allowed Alexander to command the attention, placing him on a pedestal he did not truly deserve.

"Do not be bashful," Alexander insisted, reaching out and placing a hand in Hephaestion's, closing the excruciating space between them, uncaring if eyes caught them. He needed him, more than he had on previous days, needed not only to be near him, but to touch him, to take in the smell of musky sandalwood that tainted his hair, to touch his ever-smooth skin, whereas his was calloused and hardened from labors. Hephaestion complied, twining his fingers in Alexander's, carefully leaning in to place a wanted kiss against his forehead. He did not pull away, but instead pressed his forehead to Alexander's, allowing his breath to lightly linger against Alexander's sensitive skin. No, how could such a treasure ever be so coy when it came to others admiring him? Alexander lifted his head, staring into Hephaestion's depths before kissing him, pulling him closer, feeling the warmth of not only the sun on his skin, but the warmth of flooding desire.

"You are restless," Hephaestion whispered against Alexander's shoulder as the kiss broke, due to Hephaestion's objections. Yes, Hephaestion, who was the watchful eye, keeping them from stares of those that would very much like to remove them both from power, doing whatever became necessary to do so. He placed his palm against Hephaestion's cheek, his thumb grazing over Alexander's bruising lips. All the while he continued to gaze at the young prince, searching slowly through his mind, pulling away the tangles, finding what he needed, stilling Alexander while doing so. Smiling slightly, passing his confidence on to his friend, he drifted away, but his words were still those of a confidant, of a lover far beyond his years, trapped in the body of a seventeen year old.

"They cannot keep you here forever," he persisted, taking a moment to glance out the balcony, to the day laid out before Meiza, but closed to them. He felt the same agitation, as Alexander did, but he did not yearn to be free of the confines of the palace so that he could venture the world. He yearned to be free to love Alexander, something that here was not only dismissed as common practice, but was actually frowned upon. Had Aristotle not explained that it was immoral for a man to lie with another man, unless it was to share knowledge? It sounded pretty, his wording, but Hephaestion understood what it meant. He could not be Alexander's. Besides, to gain knowledge Aristotle expected both men to be clothed, something that was also not immediately stated, but was a boundary in the sand. Impatience came from both parties, but it was two very different feelings of discomfort.

"We see that city everyday," Alexander replied, placing both hands on the balcony, his eyes following Hephaestion's line of sight, "but how often have we stepped into it?"

"Once," the other laughed stoically. He remembered the occasion well enough, having it been the only time he blatantly defied Aristotle, or any other adult. They were just barely fifteen, and to be locked away in a palace was not their idea of fun. Having decided this, they then created a plan to enter the city, slipping away during the lunch hour. Anyone could recount the ending, both youths being pulled back behind the walls by their respective tutors. It had not ended well, but the excitement was enough to last a lifetime.

"Philosophers can teach us of the world, but they cannot give it to us. They cannot show is what lies beyond the mountains, what the seas look like. Tell me again, Hephaestion, what Athenian seas look like."

Hephaestion appeased him, even though he had enlightened him to his memory of the shores a thousand times before. Still, he never grew tired of hearing, and hence, Hephaestion never tired of giving him the images he asked for. "The coast is lined with crystalline water, slowly flowing up and down, rubbing the white sands down until they are softer than the finest of silk. You can walk for hours, and seemingly get nowhere, your footprints quickly washed away by the cool waters. Even the jagged rocks, jutting out from the coast and into the tides, seem to be Poseidon's perfection. Spray wafts up, smelling of salt and sand, I swear Alexander, it is lovely. I know you would love it."

"We'll go there someday," Alexander vowed, "back to your Athens. I would trade my crown for you, Hephaestion, to be in your arms without worry. We would be alone in Athens, no one watching our every move, no one to care, our parents far away. They could not reach us. We would be invincible, immortal, we would be one, Hephaestion."

"We are together now." Hephaestion heard footsteps in the hall and glanced over his shoulder, watching as a servant walked past, seemingly unaware of their presence. However, he knew well enough that nothing was coincidence here, this palace being just as dangerous as Pella. In Pella, Olympias was the watchful eye, but here, Philip kept constant attention on them. Servants were spies, spies were tutors, it was all the same. No one could be trusted. She left though, and Hephaestion turned back to Alexander, who had already cocked his head.

"You remind me of a deer when you do that," Hephaestion smirked. It was true, the resemblance was uncanny. He let out a soft breath, and let his eyes roam over Alexander's body. Sculpted, perfect, he was everything to be desired. His golden hair wisped upward against his ear, and Hephaestion reached out, tucking a strand behind his ear. He was growing it out, which Hephaestion was enjoying, but it was in an awkward state, somewhere between short and long. His eyes were dark, like a tempest, but were always thoughtful, always planning some strategy, which he would later share. Now he thought as well, but Hephaestion did not feel like interrupting.

"My father's ambassadors will arrive tomorrow, he arrives tonight. Tell me, do you think he would miss me terribly if you and I were to sneak out tonight, spend the night outside? We could spend the morning in Meiza, return for the dinner feast before he realized we were gone."

"You are too bold," Hephaestion smirked. "I knew when you cocked your head like that, that you were thinking of something I would have to convince you out of. Alexander, while your father might not notice, I guarantee you that someone will, likely Cleitus. I want to be able to sit down at the festival, thank you, unlike the last time Cleitus belted _us_ for _our_ defiance."

Perhaps Hephaestion was right, Alexander decided. He should not drag Hephaestion into all of his schemes, it was unfair. It was always Hephaestion who took the worst of the punishments as well, because he was not a prince. It was one thing to belt a prince, three hardened lashes would do. However, Hephaestion was never so lucky. Alexander had not known this until the last time they had been defiant –when he'd first seen Hephaestion lashed. Cleitus had slammed the whip against his buttocks harder than he had his own, and far more many times, his strokes quick and deliberate. The welts were worse, and while Hephaestion had clenched his jaw and looked away from Alexander, the prince had still been able to see the burning tears he held back.

"I take your companionship for granted," Alexander said, stepping away from the balcony and entering the hall. Hephaestion followed, keeping a distance between them, but only out of caution.

"You cannot take what is freely given to you."

"You know what I mean. We both know Cleitus has it in for you, wishes he could beat you himself, constantly. Cassander is not much better. His father has filled his head with madness. He would take your place at my side if he could, I see how jealously looms in his eyes. He hates you because he knows that I love you, and he is unloved. He is a pawn, as I am."

"Pawns do not know their master's moves," Hephaestion corrected. "You know what your mother tries to do, what your father tries to counter. As long as you know how they work, both for you and against you, the next move is truly in your hand."

"I would go to Athens," Alexander said, stopping in the center of the hallway. He did not mind that servants were still passing them, and that Cleitus was approaching, and that behind him was his father, Philip. Pleadingly, he repeated his words, "I would go to Athens."

"I know," Hephaestion agreed in a muted whisper. He could ask nothing of Alexander, because he knew Alexander would give it to him. He longed to return to Athens, where things seemed so much simpler. But he had been a boy then. Perhaps it was the same everywhere, and nothing changed. Yes, he would die a thousand deaths in order to spend one lifetime with Alexander, alone, at peace. He knew Alexander though, knew that he longed to be king. He would deny it, perhaps, but it was his vision, to unite the world, and he would be king to do it. Athens was a dream, one which would never be grasped. However, Hephaestion was content to follow Alexander wherever his dreams took him, uncomplaining. Was that not what love was?

"Alexander," Philip greeted, his voice still too hard for that of a father. No, Hephaestion knew better. He was a king and a king alone, unable to separate the two. It had been his own father's downfall. Amyntor had been unable to distinguish the difference between the life of a consultant and that of a man, cheating one too many times at games, and finally, after loosing one too many bets, his life was used as payment.

"Philip."

"How many times have I asked you to call me father?"

"Roughly the same number as I have asked you to leave Meiza, to stop being treated like a child."

"Hephaestion," Philip said, ignoring Alexander and clapping Hephaestion on the shoulder, "my how you have grown. You have the physique of your father, the looks of your mother. May the gods watch over them both. I see you have not left Alexander's side. A true companion."

"I am in your debt," Hephaestion replied, the perfect response. It could not have been better were he trained. "It is the least I can do, to watch over Alexander in your absences."

"Watch him from his Harpy of a mother too," Philip mocked, stepping past the two and continuing on with his entourage. "She is the one to fear boy. She is your enemy, not I!"

As Philip turned around the corner, Cleitus glared at Alexander. Hephaestion understood that this man held Philip in high respects, perhaps loved him even, but he could not help but hope that he did not end up like Cleitus. He was bitter. He was hard. He was…a man. There was nothing deeper. He woke, he ate, he slept, he pissed, he moaned, and sometimes he fought. Nothing else.

"I would watch what you say to your father," Cleitus warned. "He has taken great care of you, boy. Spite him, and one day you will be thrown to the wolves, as he wished."

Hephaestion chewed his lower lip as the general followed the king away. Once more he prayed not to end up so calloused by life. Alexander smirked, as if proud of himself, though Hephaestion could not see why. Cleitus had brought up a perfect point. Philip had not treated him so badly. He sent him to the best trainers, best tutors, and he had always received the best of gifts. While things were not perfect between father and son, it was better than having no father. Or, at least, he assumed it could be. Philip was rigid, so perhaps his thoughts were too utopian.

"He hates me."

"He wants your respect," Hephaestion corrected. "I am your friend, and I tell you this because I hope you will pretend, at least, to listen. To go against your father is to go against everything. He controls you, yes, tells you where to live, yes, but you are alive. You are not in exile. Your father is not dead."

"Easy for you to say, your father loved you."

"Philip loves you. He just doesn't know how to show it."

"Come," Alexander sighed, watching as the trainers, along with many of the companions, strode down the hall. "It looks as if they want us for training."

Minutes later they were in the training rooms, wrestling about in a pit of sand. It was not so tedious when Alexander was allowed the opportunity to test his strength against Hephaestion. It was grueling work otherwise. Today, he thanked the gods, was a blessing. Hephaestion stood before him and placed a hand out, and then lunged forward. He almost never lunged forward, and this caught Alexander by surprise. Knocking him into the sand, Hephaestion pushed himself hard against Alexander, making the trials look real. In truth, he was going easy on the prince. Alexander jerked upward, pushing his shoulder into Hephaestion's chest, prying him momentarily off of him. But it was over before it began. Hephaestion snaked an arm around Alexander's neck and pulled him backward, successfully flipping him to the side. Landing hard, Alexander let out a burst of air as Hephaestion startled him. Had it been another, he would have complained, but to look up and into the eyes of Hephaestion was no punishment. Grinning, like a stupid schoolboy, Hephaestion patted Alexander's chest lightly and then stood to meet his congratulations from Cleitus' second. Rolling his eyes, Hephaestion reached down, helping Alexander up, though he was always advised not to.

"One more time," Alexander insisted. Hephaestion wiped sand off of an arm, and nodded, saying nothing. He repositioned himself. This time, it was Alexander who lunged. Hephaestion did not seem to feel the impact as Alexander knocked him to the ground. As he looked up at the prince, his eyes gave his plan away.

"Do not let me win," Alexander ordered. Hephaestion instantly grabbed his wrist, pulling hard, toppling Alexander. Once again, his side struck the ground, and Hephaestion quickly flung a leg over Alexander. Bucking, Alexander rolled, forcing Hephaestion from his higher position. Hephaestion thudded against the sand, but as Alexander went to grab his arm, he slid to the side, pushing Alexander's back with a single hand, forcing his face into the sand. Latching on to his wrists, Hephaestion pushed Alexander's arms to his back, successfully pinning him on his stomach.

"You should have my moves memorized by now," Hephaestion laughed, releasing Alexander. Alexander rolled onto his back, chest heaving, and shook his head.

"No, you change them each time."

"Not much."

"What king falls in battle, and is beaten by the most beautiful of the enemy?"

"Stop," Hephaestion laughed, once more helping Alexander off of the ground. They then heard horns sounding, a sign that the ambassadors from Egypt had arrived. Hephaestion tossed a glance to Alexander as the training room seemed to empty.

"I wish you would have broken my arm," Alexander retorted.

"The day is young," Hephaestion replied, rather matter of fact. "Just tell me you're not going to be too rash."

"You know me, Hephaestion."

"Yes," the second replied as he chased after Alexander, who had taken off at a dead run. "That's the problem!"

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A/N: Well, what do you think? Read and review. Thanks! Love you all, but not as much as I love Jessica and Jami.


	2. Two

**Title**: Defiance

**Author**: Baliansword

**Rating**: PG-13 / Teen Mature

**Chapter**: 2 of ?

**Summary**: Fed up with Alexander's defiance, especially in front of foreign ambassadors, Philip will use any means necessary to break his son's spirit, even if it means removing Hephaestion from his bed, and taking him into his own.

**Warnings**: There will be heavy sexual content, mild language, mild violence. I warn you now, because I might forget to later.

**A/N**: This is for _Jessica_, because she's been my advisor as of late, picking her favorite of my ideas. However, this is also for _Mary_, because without you I would probably stop writing –and he's my attempt at being better.

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The day had become even more brighter, were it possible, and Alexander noted the sweat forming on his brow. Reaching up, he wiped these off, and then glanced to the youth at his side. Hephaestion seemed composed, but then again, he would. Was he not always unbothered, ready to face anything? Today it was different though, for today the Egyptian ambassadors would accompany Philip as he strode down the glittering hallway. Clenching his jaw, Alexander balled his hands into fists, and then tried to remain reserved. Philip entered, trumpets blaring, and waved to those that looked at him, whoever they may be. Alexander was not amongst the onlookers, nor was Hephaestion, he noted. Drawing in a breath, he lifted his eyes as Philip walked by him. He did not look at him, did not acknowledge him in the slightest, in fact. He strode to the opposite end of the hall, and met then with the ambassadors, who were accompanied by a young translator, though they seemed to manage fine without him. The prince's eyes drifted to Hephaestion, who seemed to be taking in the spectacle, scanning the crowd. Had he met another more suspicious, he would have died of shock. Hephaestion did this at every banquet, as if he could sense who was there to praise the king, who was there to harm him, and of course, where each member of the festival stood when it came to Alexander. Smirking, Alexander looked away, but let his arms loosen at his sides. His hand brushed up against Hephaestion's, enough to drive him mad from their long absences together. Hephaestion let a finger brush against the back of Alexander's hand, but remained where he stood, wary of those who were looking. Alexander did not see them, but he could see by Hephaestion's nervous lip biting that he feared someone. He always chewed on his lip when he was nervous, nipping at the inside, and one would only notice his actions if they were standing next to him, knowing where to look.

"He thrives when they stare at him," Alexander said under his breath while the crowd dispersed. An hour of rehearsal with Cleitus had wound up to be only this, standing with fake admiration for a king, or in his case, a father. The corners of Hephaestion's mouth turned up, but he was still not ready to speak. He waited for most of the other patrons to leave, and then turned to Alexander. Slowly relaxing, he finally smiled, shaking his head ever so slightly. He then crossed his arms over his broad chest and licked his lips, his eyes glancing up, questioningly.

"Do not risk tempting him tonight," Hephaestion warned, already predicting what Alexander would do. On many of his father's visits to Meiza, which were considerably few, Alexander would pull some stunt to take attention away from his father. Hephaestion had long ago concluded that the desire to outshine his father had come from the day he'd ridden Bucephalus. Yet Alexander had laughed his suggestions off. He was not taking his father's light, his moments. He was only showing others that his father was not a walking god. Philip was no father. Philip was no warrior. Philip was no king. Simply, Philip was no son of Zeus.

Others were entering the hall again, bringing in elegant tables, ornate decorations, and already dancers, actors, and other entertainers were filing in, preparing for the dinner festival. There were still three hours, plenty of time, but Alexander admitted every banquet his father held was seemingly perfect in appearance. What went on, or Philip's behavior after heaving an entire jug of wine himself, was another matter. Hephaestion, flustered by the unwanted company, averted his eyes to the floor. Alexander hated when he did this. But he knew that tonight there could be no stolen glances, no mistaken touches that in truth had been cleverly organized. No, tonight he needed more of Hephaestion. He needed him. Gently reaching out, in the most innocent looking of touches, he placed a hand on Hephaestion's elbow. He leaned in as he brushed past him, whispering lightly against the hollow of Hephaestion's throat, driving the other just as mad.

"Follow me," Alexander whispered seductively. He then released Hephaestion, pulling away from him and effectively leaving the other craving more. Hephaestion was perhaps an actor at heart, able to make it look as if nothing at all had happened. As if he had been asked, he reached out, taking a vase from a table that was being carried in. He examined it as Alexander left the room, and when there was no sign of the prince, giving him just enough time, Hephaestion turned. He set the vase on a chair that had been left in the grand hall, and then made his own exit.

The hallway was darkened, but Hephaestion's eyes soon adjusted as he stepped past a straggling servant. However, the further he went down the hallway, the darker it became. This was likely under orders of Philip, who tried to block corridors off by removing their candles, in order to keep the guests contained. Hephaestion placed a hand on the wall and continued walking, stumbling once as he tripped over an unidentified object. Catching his footing, he then went on, fingers pressed against the cold stone walls, the rugged stones gnawing at his skin as he continued on his path. Coming to a 'T' in the passageway he listened for signs of Alexander, and finally heard something drop to the floor. It bounced momentarily, causing a slight echo –most likely a small pebble or rock. Hephaestion turned and went on his way, grateful to finally see a candelabra hanging from the wall. Before reaching it, his hand connected with something else. Uncertain of what he'd brushed up against, he jerked his hand backwards, but as he did a hand caught his wrist, pulling him further into the dim light of the candle. Lips pressed against his, and instantly he stilled. He recognized Alexander's lips, recognize the way that he placed his hand on the small of his back, drawing him closer. He melted into him. Pressed against the wall now, pinned by Alexander, Hephaestion titled his head upwards, breaking the kiss. Alexander ignored his pleas and moved his lips to his throat, still kissing him passionately, warmth spreading over Hephaestion's body in the process.

"They're always watching," Hephaestion cautioned, his hands gripping Alexander's shoulders, trying to pry him off. It was a frivolous attempt, because Hephaestion had never succeeded in pushing Alexander away. He could not help himself, the feeling all too good to ignore. Head tilted back, hair snagging against jagged stones in the wall, Hephaestion felt his posture give, and instantly he was leaning against the wall. Alexander was the only thing that kept him up, kept him sane, and even that was a paradox. How could someone keep you sane, all while driving you mad? Hephaestion felt Alexander touch his cheek, pulling his head down so that he could press a kiss against his mouth. Alexander begged entrance, his tongue dancing over Hephaestion's lower lip, leaving trails of burning fire that could not be kept out of mind. Moaning slightly, Hephaestion let his mouth give way. Alexander's tongue slid against Hephaestion's, and like slick velvet, hyper sensitized their bodies. Each touch brought them pleasure, but extreme pain, both at the same time. Slouching against Alexander, Hephaestion dug his fingers into the prince's waist, pulling him against him. It was bliss, their unbridled lust for one another.

"Alexander," he then pleaded, still in vain attempts to protect Alexander. He could not will his body to forget the touches, the kisses, though. Again Alexander craned his neck upward, wrapping his arms around Hephaestion's neck, urging him to meet his forceful kissing. As expected, Hephaestion met Alexander's requests, kissing him back, his own rhythm set to their desires. Hephaestion felt Alexander's hand brush against his thigh, then flatten, pressing against the front of his thigh. Alexander's hand roamed to Hephaestion's inner thigh, and with an indescribable firm delicateness skimmed over creamy flesh before moving upward. Hephaestion drew in a breath, titling his head back again, his eyes gazing upward into the darkness. Turning his head, he surveyed the hall, which was literally impossible. There could be an audience watching them now, and neither would know, not if they wished it to be so.

"Not here," Hephaestion whispered, feeling conscious suddenly. Had he not placed his hand over Alexander's, with firmness, Alexander would not have stopped. However, he knew when Hephaestion was nervous. It was his only flaw, if that, to fear too much over troubles that were not his own. It was not that Hephaestion was afraid of being caught himself, but instead, he worried about what would happen to Alexander were he caught in such a compromising position. Alexander smiled slightly, but sadly, and looked into the darkness. Nothing was there, Hephaestion merely had an over imaginative mind.

"You fret over nothing."

"Please," Hephaestion said, running his hands over Alexander's shoulders, and trailing them down his arms. Alexander met cerulean eyes, and his frustrations lifted. "I am yours, Alexander, but we both know that we are under constant guard. I would never let your demise be caused by my actions."

"You're too loyal," Alexander maintained, stepping away from Hephaestion so that he could come away from the wall. He then grabbed the candelabra, brining it with him as he made his way down the hall. "If you choose to love me you should be able to do so without fearing what others will think, how they will react. If they want to contest my decisions," Alexander stated, whirling back around to face Hephaestion, "then they don't know you."

Alexander dropped the candelabra, instead throwing his arms around Hephaestion. He cupped his buttocks with one hand, drawing him near, desperate for his touch. Responding without delay, Hephaestion forcefully pressed Alexander to the nearest wall. At least this way, should they be caught, he could admit that the infatuations were brought on not by the prince, but by himself. He placed a hand on the back of Alexander's thigh and lifted it, allowing Alexander to wrap his leg around him. Pressing his fingers against his bronzed thigh, Hephaestion slid his hand up Alexander's chiton. Expertly, he pressed beneath the cloth that separated them, cupping Alexander's yearning flesh. His lips cut off Alexander's utterances, then discovered the crook of his neck, his collarbone, his partially exposed upper chest. Sliding over Alexander's hardened desire, he listened to the prince gasp, and then bite his lower lip to keep from muttering lover's words, as he nipped Alexander's now erect nipple. He knew what Alexander wanted, what he needed, and he knew that he craved for it too. With deliberate slowness, Hephaestion pulled his hand away from Alexander's length, and with the same leisurely pace his mouth moved down the center of Alexander's chest, his hands grasping at his flattened stomach as he slithered further and further down. Pushing Alexander's chiton up as he began planting soft kisses against his thighs, like drops of rain falling against rose petals, Alexander wrapped his hands in Hephaestion's hair. He could not keep his hips from jerking when Hephaestion expertly opened him to his mouth, taking him, giving him immense pleasure immediately.

"Phae," Alexander sighed against the back of his hand. Hephaestion snaked a hand around his waist, pulling him further against him. Alexander could not deny that Hephaestion could bring him to an end with only whispering his name. Tonight, he almost lost his restraint when Hephaestion took him, sliding his tongue to his base, then back. Muttering an inaudible plea, he then felt his body tense, and then suddenly relax. His hands fell to Hephaestion's shoulders, but Hephaestion did not rise, instead, he paused. He kissed Alexander's thighs lightly, deliberately, carefully, and only after making sure every inch of both thighs had been tended to, did he slowly move up Alexander's chest once more. Sliding the shoulder strap of his chiton up, Hephaestion kissed his shoulder, and felt Alexander wrap his arms around him.

"We have to go to dinner," Hephaestion whispered against Alexander's neck, kissing his earlobe faintly. He then pulled away, taking his prince's hand, and kissing his knuckles. Then, as if it had not happened, he dropped his hand and they continued on their way, unaware of the peering eyes that watched them.

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A/N: Short, but intriguing isn't it?


	3. Three

Title: Defiance

Author: Baliansword

Rating: PG-13 / Teen Mature

Chapter: 3 of ?

**Summary**: Fed up with Alexander's defiance, especially in front of foreign ambassadors, Philip will use any means necessary to break his son's spirit, even if it means removing Hephaestion from his bed, and taking him into his own.

**Warnings**: There will be sexual content, mild language, mild violence. You have again been warned. (Jessica, people sometimes talk during sex…)

**A/N**: Thank you so much to all of my reviewers, and to those that constantly support me each day, forcing me to write more. Jessica, Jami, Mary, you know who you are.

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The room was fairly quiet, considering the celebrations taking place just down the hall. Already the ambassadors had gone, but only after he had given them specific orders to. They were unsure of leaving his side, as if it was some sort of violation to their cause, but Philip needed to be alone for a few minute. There was a small pile of treaties on his desk, that in fairness he should look over, but instead he tucked them away in a drawer. The door opened, and he glanced up from the papers as Cleitus, his favorite, entered. Had it been another he would have reprimanded them, but alas, he had always had trouble chastising his general. Cleitus sat, waiting to be acknowledged, pensively chewing his nails.

"Out with it," Philip ordered, his tone perhaps too harsh for such an occasion. Cleitus glanced up, still tearing a hang nail away, but was not instantaneous in a response. He knew that no words Philip could ever say would harm him. Philip needed him, but more importantly, he wanted him. This fact alone had solidified their relationship, general and king, long ago. However, he knew that he would have to initiate the conversation relatively soon, before Philip tired of the silence and decided to attend his feast.

"Your son openly defies you," he stated, alluding to far more than the king himself had been informed of. Philip looked up from his labors, but did not seem surprised by the statement.

"We resisted our parents in our day, disregarding their titles. Why should my son be any different? Though, I admit, it does tax me."

"He should have more respect for you, as a father and a king. Especially," the general added, "when there are members of foreign legions present. Imagine, to hear from your loyal subjects that King Philip of Macedon is tried by a sixteen year old. His own son, nonetheless. Distention in the family is a plague Philip, starting off as a small wound, which festers until it bleeds black."

"I'll speak with him, later."

"He bides his time here, if you don't mind my frankness." Philip raised an eyebrow at the general's statement, but Cleitus went on. The best perk of being the favorite to a king, was you were their whispering conscious. They would not silence you, though, were they wise, they would. "The longer that you allow Alexander to make friends, you appoint your own enemies. We know Antipater, how badly he would challenge you to the throne if he had the power. However, he does not have it, because he has no support to overthrow you. But, Alexander spends time with Cassander, who could be his father's eyes and ears."

"My son does not hold such a high esteem for Cassander. Believe me; he has made that clear to me on plenty an occasion."

"And Hephaestion?"

"What of him," the king asked, tossing another misplaced piece of parchment onto the floor, where it would remain until a servant was asked to take it away. He then turned his attention to Cleitus, whose eyes shimmered in the light from the candles in the room.

"He is close to Alexander. He is close to his heart."

Philip thought about this for a moment, registering the connotation that Cleitus had set forth. It was only natural for young boys to feel desires, unexplained, and to at times act upon them. He was one to admit, that in long fought battles, away from all women, soldiers too found physical comfort in one another. However, physical desires did not place a man close to another's heart. No, it was love that bound hearts, until one party, for any motive, tore the second into pieces with a dull blade. Philip had learned, long ago, that love was a cruel trick of the gods. Alas, it was a powerful treachery.

"Youth blinds them, Cleitus. They are secluded from the rest of Meiza, from Pella. It only makes sense that they spend time together. That does not mean love, it does not even indicate it."

"Love, lust," Cleitus shrugged, again picking at his nails, "it does not matter. Either way, uniting them is dangerous. Alexander is beloved by many of the Companions, true, but those that do not love him adore Hephaestion. Some envy him, perhaps, including Cassander, but even in envy they would listen to the orders of Alexander. They would do Hephaestion's biding as well. More to the point, they have lain with one another, many times. Are you still unconcerned?"

"Rumors," Philip interjected.

"I have seen them," Cleitus assured him. This caused Philip to choke on his words. It was one thing to accuse, because it could always be denied. However, seeing the pair together was incriminating. Perhaps Cleitus was right, and they needed to be watched. It made sense, that the pair was becoming stronger. Rubbing his hand over his eyes Philip exhaled, still considering what he was to do. Loud laughter rang out from the dining hall, pulling him from his thoughts, realigning his mind with the task at hand. He rose, as did Cleitus, and the pair made their way out of the room.

"I will deal with this later," Philip insisted, telling the general to drop the subject, though he need not say more. Cleitus seemed pleased with himself. It was enough to know that the seeds of doubt had been placed in the king's mind. Upon entering the festivities, he knew that it would be quite an interesting night.

Meanwhile, Hephaestion and Alexander sat side by side on one of the showy blanch couches that had been brought into the room. Already darkened wine was staining the cushions beside Hephaestion, not by his own doing, but instead from Cassander, who had fell against the back. Laughing, Cassander pushed himself back, and then clapped a hand over Hephaestion's shoulder. He leaned in, saying something to Hephaestion, but Alexander could not hear him. He took a sip from his own goblet, and while Cassander waltzed away, swinging along with a young woman, Hephaestion turned his attention back to Alexander. They were back to stealing secret glances, surreptitious touches as they shifted, but Alexander could not complain. Hephaestion appeared a god tonight. A wreath had been woven into his flowing hair, and his eyes sparkled in the light of the candles and flames seemed to dance against his skin, though it was only their light.

"You should pretend to enjoy yourself," Hephaestion suggested, leaning in, his hand lightly covering Alexander's. Alexander wanted to leave, wanted to take Hephaestion away from here, to Athens, where they could be free. Yet before he could enact his plan, a chorus of trumpets announced King Philip, who, as always, was trailed by Cleitus. The Egyptian ambassadors almost swooned, causing Alexander to roll his eyes. He sunk into the couch, and Hephaestion tried to soothe him with a look. But what was he to tell his prince, that it was expected for his father not to appreciate him? The king then moved to the center of the room and raised a goblet in toast. Hephaestion lifted his own, shooting a warning to Alexander at the same time. Alexander raised his cup, and then drained its contents immediately, not even pausing for air. Hephaestion would have told him to keep a clear head, had Philip not been giving a speech. Instead, cerulean eyes drifted over him, their plead silent, but it cut him deeply.

"Alexander," the king said, after finishing his speech. He had not bothered with introductions with others, for something else was on his mind. Alexander did not stand, because he simply did not feel like praising a father that could not even acknowledge him in public. Had his mother been here, she would have told him to remain strong, that he would someday be king. If Hephaestion had his way, he would silence Alexander, no matter what it looked like. But, when angry, nothing could silence Alexander. He had been created in a womb of hate, born into a home of anger, and in such, the two guided him.

"Greet our guests," Philip instructed, introducing the men individually. Alexander stood, which was more than Hephaestion could have expected from him, but he then did the unthinkable. Taking Hephaestion's cup quickly from him, he shoved it against one of the ambassadors, spilling the rest of the wine. All went silent in the hall, and all eyes turned to the scene playing out in front of them. Hephaestion's eyes jumped from Alexander to Philip, fearing what would happen next. He stood, reaching out and placing a hand on Alexander's extended elbow. He pulled his arm down, listening to the Egyptians as they ranted in their language. He could only imagine what was going to happen next.

"Hephaestion," Philip bellowed, and suddenly eyes were all turned upon him. Hephaestion felt the heat rise to his cheeks, but he tried to think of something else. Hoping that he was not there did not seem to work, for Philip continued to glare at Alexander, even after speaking his name.

"Hephaestion, please allow my servants to see you to my room. I think I would like to spend the night discussing my defiance of my son with you," Philip slurred, still loud enough for others to hear. Hephaestion could not find his voice. To decline would be his death sentence, but to openly agree would be a betrayal against Alexander.

"Why not speak with me," Alexander fired back, causing a few of those present to gasp, some even while reaching for their chests. Hephaestion wanted to shove him away, to make him leave. Did he not understand that he was only causing more trouble for himself? At times Hephaestion wanted to shake him, wanted to curse him, wanted to do anything to get him to understand that he had to bite his tongue. Was that not what the world was about?

"Shut your mouth," the king hissed. "You've too much bravado locked away in you."

"You would know nothing of it!"

Philip reacted fiercely, striking Alexander hard across the face. Blood pooled at the corner of Alexander's mouth, and Hephaestion fought every urge to wrap his hands around Philip's neck and squeeze the life out of him. Alexander reached up, placing a hand on the split in his lip, and then smiled, blood staining his front teeth. Laughing, on the verge of madness, he spat at his father. The bloody spittle hit Philip's face, and the king slapped Alexander once more, striking the same area. Hephaestion could take no more. Before Philip was able to kick Alexander, who was still doubled over on the floor, he stepped in front of him. Leaning down, he made his words audible to only Alexander.

"Stay down," he whispered. "If you love me, grant me this only request."

"Hephaestion," the king screamed. Hephaestion snapped back up and stood before the king. It would have been in his right to kill him, but he knew he would not. He could see the look Cleitus had in his eyes, a grateful resolve. No, Philip did not plan to kill him. He planned to use him as a pawn against Alexander. It was a wise idea, he had to admit.

As Cleitus stepped forward, wrapping an arm around him, he glanced over his shoulder. Alexander had not stood, and for this, he was glad. However, Alexander had tilted his head, making himself able to watch as Hephaestion was led away, blood still dripping from his mouth. Nothing could be worse than seeing the look of tortured agony in Alexander's eyes as he stared up at him.

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Philip slammed the door behind him, causing Hephaestion to jump slightly. The boy sat in a very plain chair, his back to the entrance of the room. He was unwilling to stand, but when Cleitus slapped his hand against a desk Hephaestion rose. So, he could be trained. Philip walked around the chair, coming into view of the youth. No, he then decided, he was not trained. He was too swift to be trained. Hephaestion was, perhaps, the wisest youth he had seen in some time. He was also, he admitted, the most beautiful.

"You protect my son," he asked, stepping past Cleitus to pour himself a drink. Cleitus said nothing, but Hephaestion could see the smile that twitched at the corner of his lips. Hephaestion would remind himself, years later, that his death would mean little to him. But in the present, he averted his eyes, keeping them on the floor.

"Answer," Philip then demanded, his temper short. His son had already made a fool of him. He would not have another child talking down to him, or bettering himself, before him. Not tonight. Not again.

"Everyone should protect your son, for he is a prince of Macedonia." He raised his eyes, continuing, "I am his friend, and I look out for him if it is in my ability."

"You little whelp, you are indebted to me! Your father left you with nothing, and I took you in to honor his name and the friendship that we once had. Your father was a good man, one who knew where to put his words. In this case, he would have known where not to place his body!"

"Forgive me, but beating your son while he is on the ground is no punishment a father should dole out to a crowd."

Hephaestion felt the sting as Philip's hand collided with his cheek. He wondered if it had hurt Alexander as much as it stung him. Tilting his head back, showing pride, he did not let the pain affect him. Instead, he continued to stare at the king, whose chest was heaving heavily.

"I refer to something else, and you know it!"

Hephaestion knew, but what was he going to do? To admit that he had fallen madly in love with Alexander, to the point of physical meetings, was not his place. He knew of betrayal in all of its forms. His father had betrayed him, whether or not he had meant to, but he had forgiven him long ago –upon entering the palace of Pella and meeting Alexander.

"Damn it, answer me boy!"

"I do not know what you are referring to"

"I saw you," Cleitus piped in. Hephaestion turned his attention to him. His mind screamed at him. He had sensed someone in the hall, he should have stopped. He should have forced Alexander to be reasonable. His stomach flipped; he wanted to die. This was his fault, for not listening to the warnings, for continuing with Alexander when he should not have.

"Will you deny it now," Philip asked.

Hephaestion had no answer.

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A/N: I know, that's a little cliff. It could have been a bigger cliff though. Come on, suspense keeps you reading and you know it. smile Let me know what you think and I'll have the next chapter up ASAP!


	4. Four

**Title**: Defiance

**Author**: Baliansword

**Rating**: PG-13 / Teen Mature

**Chapter**: 4 of ?

**Summary**: Fed up with Alexander's defiance, especially in front of foreign ambassadors, Philip will use any means necessary to break his son's spirit, even if it means removing Hephaestion from his bed, and taking him into his own.

**Warnings**: GRAPHIC VIOLENCE in this chapter. Please be forewarned, and Jessica, no one dies in this chapter. See, I just ruined it for everyone.

**A/N**: Thank you so much to all of my reviewers, and to those that constantly support me each day, forcing me to write more. Jessica, you are just completely amazing. Jami, I have so much respect for you; all that you go through, with a smile on your face, makes me want to be a stronger person.

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Alexander pushed himself from the floor, blood still falling from his mouth, mixing with saliva and leaving bubbly red stains on the ornamental carpet. The crowd looked away as he ran the back of his hand over his lips, smearing blood upon his cheek. He could not imagine what Hephaestion was going through, but it could not be worse than the shame he felt now as eyes glanced him over, then quickly looked away. Storming out of the room, past Cassander, who made an attempt to stop him, he entered the hall. While he went on his way he flung the candles from the wall, which hit the stone with a clatter, extinguishing the flames. Cassander, however, followed his prince, keeping pace with him.

"Alexander," he called out, hands behind him as he approached. Alexander whirled around, shoving Cassander away from him, colliding with his chest hard. Cassander took the thrust, and then shot Alexander a warning glance. If he wanted, he could bring more harm to the prince, but he did not want to. There was something more at risk, something far beyond Hephaestion.

"It is Cleitus you should be angry with," Cassander said, folding his arms over his chest. Alexander, nostrils flaring, bore into him. "Do you think that he does not correspond with Philip? He saw you, together. He spies well, which is why he is still here. Did you think he'd be away from Pella if not on a mission, Alexander?"

"And what would you know of betrayal, Cassander, apart from you would use the same vice against me had you the opportunity?"

"I know that betrayal is like playing with fire. At times, it can merely singe, and at others, it will engulf your entire hand. Cleitus reaches into the flames, testing them, but he does not dare leave his hand above the flame. He is a bigger threat to me than you, or even your beloved blue-eyed beauty."

"What are you suggesting," Alexander then asked.

"Cleitus is only powerful if you give him what he wants, information. However, take this away from him, blind him, and he is nothing. He is like Polyphemus, he is bigger than us all and could easily crush us, but together, we are wiser and stronger. We can take away his eye. Alexander, put your hand in the flame, and leave it there. If you go after Hephaestion now, they will know, and they will send him away. They might even kill him. Let Philip have him tonight."

"Fool! Barbarian," Alexander spat, driven mad by even the idea of leaving Hephaestion with his father, or worse, Cleitus. His father was a pig, yes, but Cleitus was even worse. He could only imagine the horrors, the monstrosities, that could be done to Hephaestion if he were not in his care. Yet worse, Hephaestion would not fight back. He would allow their advances, if but only to protect him, which was undeserved. Hephaestion was always protecting him, and if he could not protect him now, then Hephaestion was truly too perfect.

"Do you think that I'll leave him to their control? You know Cleitus," Alexander insisted, his face coming dangerously close to Cassander's face. "If you are so brave, why do you not order him to leave your rooms at night? Why do you let him touch you?"

"You know nothing of it," Cassander screamed, shoving Alexander away from him. His face reddened and he lunged forward again, pushing Alexander into a large column. "If you want them to tire of Hephaestion then leave him be! He will understand in the morning."

"Easy for you to say, you snake."

"A snake perhaps, but at least you know a snake for what it is. There is no deception, for we are what we are. I'm telling you the right thing to do Alexander. I know how you yearn for Hephaestion. Aphrodite, did you think I did not know! I see the way you look at him, the way you give everything to him, bend to his every whim and desire. A snake, yes, but even snakes are at times loyal to their masters."

"He asks nothing from me," Alexander said, shaking his head. "You are jealous of him, not because of my affections for him, but because somewhere inside your soul you know that you're not worthy of such a love."

"I warn you," Cassander insisted, even as Alexander was walking down the hall. "If you cause more trouble, it is not you who will pay!"

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The sound of Philip's knuckles ramming against the already bruised flesh of Hephaestion's gut. His side ached, and again fire tore through his side as he heaved forward. He felt like retching again but the bile subsided as he pushed himself back onto all fours. The blood on the back of his hands did not phase him, and his lower lip trembling did not cause him to panic either, but the increasing pain in his stomach area did. It was already causing his head to spin, but he tried to trick his mind, telling himself it was not so bad. It could have been worse, he reminded himself, taking a moment to turn his head to the side. Cleitus lay upon the couch, completely void of garments, watching him. Yes, it could have been far worse. Looking back to the floor, he waited for the next punch, and when it came, he was still surprised.

"You are a fool," Philip bellowed, extending his fingers and popping his knuckles again. It gave Hephaestion time to draw a few haggard breaths before he balled his hand into a fist and struck him again. This time he brought his hand down on the youth's back, knocking him to the ground gasping for air.

"It could be less painful," Cleitus advised, still stroking himself, the same sickening smile on his face. "You could just admit that you love the prince, and then come here, and show me how it is you love him."

"No," Hephaestion whispered, blinded by pain. He closed his eyes and tried to think of another place, a better time, but was unable to. Again Philip punched him, forcing him back to the floor. His hand slid in his own blood, and he collapsed again, slamming the right side of his face against the smooth tiles. He felt his jaw tighten, screaming at him, and his lungs were now burning as well. It would have been defeat to remain lying there, so he placed his bloody hands firmly on the tile and began to push himself up once more. This time Philip kicked him hard in the stomach, rolling him over in the process.

"Stupid bastard! Do you really think your king a fool? I have it on good authority that you are a whore at my son's side. Why not drop to your knees for Cleitus. Is he not good enough?"

"No," he managed to utter, his throat dry, even though his blood still slicked his tongue. Again the king kicked him, this time harder than before it seemed. His foot then struck his groin. The world spun above him, over and over, and again he felt the bile rising, mixed with coppery blood and salt. Philip grabbed him by the throat before he could vomit, dragging him upward as if he were a rag. Limp, Hephaestion was at his mercy, which was next to nothingness. Philip flung him violently against the nearest column, striking his brow and jaw hard in the process. Blood blurred his vision as he desperately tried to cling to the pole before sliding down to the floor once more. It was over, he told himself.

_Alexander,_ his thoughts whispered to him. It made things better, to think of Alexander, his handsome Alexander. He thought of his smile, the sun touching his features as they turned through the pages of Homer's greatest epic. Another hit to the side. He remembered a time when they were together, walking through the crowded streets of Pella, disguised as mere beggars. Another strike. How normal they had been, unnoted by the keepers of stands, who gladly bartered with them. Cleitus stood, coming forward, kneeling before him to check his eyes. Alexander had bought him a carved figurine, a lion with flames for mane. The general stepped away, then nodded to Philip, who struck him then on the thigh with a thick piece of leather. It had rained that night. Welts began to form on his thighs, thick and red, bleeding some. Oh, yes, Alexander was all he thought of. His Achilles.

"Show him what a whore you are," Philip ordered, grabbing Hephaestion's chin and forcing his head upward. The boy was a complete mess, bloody and bruised from head to toe now. Some of the bruises blended together, some of the welts touched each other, making waves on his legs. Philip shoved his head back, and Hephaestion felt the wall hit against his skull.

"Let him be," Cleitus then said, pulling his trousers back on. He scanned the boy once more. "He's learned his lesson, I think."

"I warn you," Philip hissed, grabbing him and dragging him to the door. Hephaestion tried to use his legs, but they only flailed beneath him. "Defy me again, or whore yourself to my son, and I will kill you. I owe your father nothing, not now."

Hephaestion hit the tile and slid on his own blood. He was too weak to stand, but he lifted his head. From what he could still see, blood hampering the vision in his right eye, he was not so far from his room. Reaching out, he slapped his hand against the tile, and began to drag himself forward. It was a long process, pain stopping him every inch. He tried to breathe, but no air seemed to enter his body, and by the time he entered the threshold of his room a trail of red followed him. As he reached upward for the handle, he collapsed, and the world went dark.

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Had he not known better, he would have thought the youth before him dead, and certainly would not have been able to recognize him from any other wraith. His legs were scraped and bruised, but his thighs were far worse. Darkened flesh jutted upwards like mountains, black, blue, green, and yellow flesh looking like it would sluff off at any moment. Some of the welts had torn flesh in the center, creating vile looking cuts. He could still see the some flakes of salt that had been tossed into the wounds, glistening now with blood. As he scanned the rest of his body he placed a wet rag over each thigh, hoping it would soothe the skin. His sides were bruised, ribs just above likely broken, and his chest rose and fell quickly. The center of his sternum was a darkened purple, and a large welt went diagonally across the bruise. Hand prints circled his neck, and his jaw was scraped, and his lip was split in two places. Dark circles had closed his eyes, the bridge of his nose cut as well, and his brown hair was bloodied and matter to the side of his head. Pushing hair away, the prince only revealed another bruise, this one on his temple. He cursed, tears burning his eyes.

"Hephaestion," he cried as slowly his lover's eyes twitched. His lower lip parted, and he drew in a jagged breath, his eyes slowly opening. He blinked several times before trying to move his head, and when he did he winced.

"Did I oversleep," he whispered, his voice sounding like a ghost's. Alexander shook his head, tears now streaming down his cheeks. Hephaestion instinctively reached up and brushed the tears away with a hand. For the first time he seemed to feel the pain of his entire body, and his arm fell back to the bed. He gasped for air, his lungs not opening it seemed. Alexander leaned down and gently placed a hand over Hephaestion's, his fingers cut and bleeding, some possibly broken.

"You should hate me," Alexander desperately murmured, his words almost incomprehensible to Hephaestion. "Oh gods, Hephaestion, I was on my way, I swear it. The guards sent me away, and soon enough I found you, but it was all too late. Oh, my poor, poor Hephaestion. You are too loyal. You are too loyal."

"Why do you cry?"

"Do you not feel it? I've seen battle-ridden men who have returned in better shape than you, men who should have died. Are you so battered it no longer hurts? The physician is on the way. Oh, poor, poor Hephaestion."

"I feel nothing but serenity when with you," Hephaestion whispered. It was an amazing hyperbole, for he felt each tear in his flesh, each bruise that dulled his skin, each rib crushing against his lungs when he tried to take in air. Alexander was choking on tears once more. He leaned forward, placing his lips against Hephaestion's forehead, cooling the fire that burned there.

"How bad is it?"

"I'm not sure," Alexander said through tears. "You always strike me as a sculpture made for Aphrodite. You are no different to me now."

"Be honest with me."

"I am. I have never seen another so perfect, Hephaestion. Oh, why did I pursue you, deity fallen from the Elysian Fields and into my courtyard? I should have sent you back to Athens, where you were safe from these politics."

"I would have come back," Hephaestion whispered, blinking more and more. Alexander reached for a cloth in the cool wash basin and wrung it out. He then began wiping more blood away from Hephaestion's face. Hephaestion whispered something else, something he could neither hear nor guess, and then the breath left him momentarily. Again he slipped into the realm of darkened dreams. Alexander could only watch him and silently pray, hoping the gods would protect him.

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A/N: I actually feel really bad about having Hephaestion brutally beaten, so don't hate me. Review though!


	5. Five

**Title**: Defiance

**Author**: Baliansword

**Rating**: PG-13 / Teen Mature

**Chapter**: 5 of ?

**Summary**: Fed up with Alexander's defiance, especially in front of foreign ambassadors, Philip will use any means necessary to break his son's spirit, even if it means removing Hephaestion from his bed, and taking him into his own.

**Warnings**: The usual. (Actually, I'm writing this as I sit here, so I don't actually know yet.)

**A/N**: Thank you so much to all of my reviewers, and to those that constantly support me each day, forcing me to write more. Jessica, you are just completely amazing. Jami, I have so much respect for you; all that you go through, with a smile on your face, makes me want to be a stronger person.

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_Nine days later…_

He picked up the salve and carefully uncorked the top, wafting the scents beneath his nose. The concoction smelled of lavender, musky sandalwood, dirt, and possibly an olive branch. He supposed that the smell was not so bad, even though as he tipped the bottle more perfume seemed to fill the room. The thick liquid coated his fingers and he began to lightly dab the contents on the bruised flesh of his shoulder. He then glanced back to the silver mirror as he dropped a bead of liquid onto the splits on his upper and lower lip. His lower lip glistened in the thin silver, but he soon looked away, unable to see any more. Draining the rest of the vile, spreading liquid across his shoulders and chest, he tossed it into a woven basket on the floor. He then selected a crème, opening the jar and again smelling an odd creation, this one smelling mostly of weeds and salt. He then rubbed the crème into the back of his hands, which were reddened and bruised, but overall were not in the worst of conditions. Sighing, he twisted the top back onto the jar and then caught a glimpse of himself again. Hephaestion had never been vain, but to see himself in such a state did cause him some pain. He noted the dark circles around his light eyes, the torn flesh on the bridge of his nose and eyebrow. Catching himself, he looked away again, and began to rifle through the various jars on the desk before him. Selecting another, he warmed it in his hands, then pulled the lid away. As he did, his door opened, and Alexander entered, quietly pushing it closed. He wondered how Alexander could still look at him, but he supposed it was the same reason that he had allowed Philip to beat him so thoroughly. Love. Setting the jar down he carefully turned, wincing and reaching for a rib, but tried not to appear too pained. Alexander had crossed the room swiftly, dropping to his knees before Hephaestion, reaching up to help him reposition himself. It was odd, to be treated as if he were a child, but again, Alexander only did such out of love.

"You should not be up," Alexander instructed, taking Hephaestion's hand in his own and helping him to rise. Hephaestion leaned slightly against him, but was not willing to be completely dependent upon him. Alexander pulled a downy blanket away from the bed and then let Hephaestion sit. Reaching down, he helped push his legs underneath the blankets, and then lay the blanket back over Hephaestion. Hephaestion exhaled slowly, his eyes fluttering closed, but when he opened his eyes again the pain was gone. Alexander envied his ability to push distress out of his mind. He envied that Hephaestion was able to love him so selflessly, and never do anything wrong, or even near it. He was too brave, yes, too loyal, yes, too good for him, yes, but he selfishly loved him nonetheless.

"My mother is set to arrive today," Alexander told Hephaestion, who had missed every waking moment of life outside of his room. He'd wanted to come to the trainings, despite the fact that Cleitus would be there, but the physicians had advised against it. Alexander had as well, but under different reasoning. Hephaestion listened casually, as if Alexander was weaving a tale of wonders. Alexander wondered what he was thinking, if he was truly as content as he appeared. Alexander smiled down at him and then leaned down, kissing Hephaestion's forehead softly. His skin was rugged against his lips, warmer than it should have been, but not terribly so. Oh, his dear Hephaestion. He could not forget finding him, lying on the floor, a trail of blood following him. The shock of it all had almost caused him to lose his mind to madness, but something had kept him from being rash. Now, he was on a road to recovery, and looked more beautiful than ever. It was not the bruising, but instead, it was the glow that surrounded him. Removing his lips, drawing backwards, he again looked into Hephaestion's cerulean eyes, and let his lips turn up in a smile.

"You should return to Pella with her," Hephaestion said in good spirits as Alexander toyed with his battered fingers, carefully examining him. His index finger on his right hand was not broken, though he held it in an awkward position, bent at the middle knuckle and tucked against his palm. His hands were no longer swollen, but still the veins beneath their thin layers of skin seemed to jump, and as Alexander ran the pad of his thumb over one, it jerked. Alexander drew his thumb away, hoping he had not pained Hephaestion more. "It would make her happy, I think, to have you at her side. She must be lonely, trapped in a world where no one speaks to her."

"Such a peace maker," Alexander uttered, placing a hand on Hephaestion's forehead to check his temperature one more. His fever from the previous days had subsided, but Alexander still worried about it coming back. He then continued, his mind not having stopped when his words did. "I vow it, we will both return to Pella, away from this secluded place. We'll visit the storyteller's, first thing, and then we'll be able to walk amongst the orchards, the fields, we'll do it all Hephaestion, everything that we were accustomed to until we were banished here."

"I do not need to go to the storytellers," Hephaestion laughed, curling his fingers around Alexander's just to show that he was not as injured as his friend believed. How he loved it when Alexander began to speak, planning their future together. It was not the words, not necessarily, but the fact that he was so passionate about his subject. He had long ago convinced him that one day they would see Persia, and then go beyond. While it seemed improbably, especially with Philip growing older but no weaker, he still believed him. He would follow him too, to the ends of the world, and back again. "I have you to tell me stories. Your lore is better than that of Homer. Compared to you, he knows nothing of the world, nothing of Achilles' great desire. He should have met you, Alexander. You would have inspired him like no other Hellenic hero. But I still wonder, why is it that you blame yourself? I see it in your eyes when you look at me, the way you touch my hands, it gives it away."

"You read me too well."

"It could become a problem," he agreed. He then pushed himself into a sitting position, and though it ached, it felt good to sit instead of lie. The physicians thought that his body would recover best if he did not move, however, he felt much better flexing his muscles, trying his body's patience with him. "Still, you should know that I regret nothing, Alexander. You are not to be blamed for your father's actions."

"And if I end up just like him?" Alexander had pondered this more than once. His father had told him that Olympias was just like her mother, and her mother before her. It was a line of Harpies, at least, in Philip's demented mind. Alexander had asked Aristotle about lineage, when Hephaestion was debating phrases with Ptolemy, and the old man had smirked. _Lineage_, he said, _is just blood in your veins. It does not make a man, but if the man believes it does, if he gives it power, then it surely will overtake him_. He did not wish to be like Philip, never like Philip, and he would kill himself before he became like Cleitus, who preyed on youth and found his pleasure in watching beatings. Oh, he'd known, they had all known, but never before had Hephaestion been the center of his intentions.

"Never," he quickly interjected. He placed his hand on Alexander's cheek, but the contrast of his reddened skin caused him to drop his hand. "You are so much more, Alexander, much more than Philip could ever be. I see it, your strength, flowing through you like a river. The current just becomes faster and faster, with nothing to slow it down. You are not him. You'll never be a tyrant, never."

"Not with you by my side."

"And if, as you say, we are Achilles and Patroclus, what then? Will we fight side by side in battle until I fall? And then, will you avenge me, my noble Alexander? For let me tell you now, when I die, do not avenge me. I want you to mourn me in your heart, but only for a moment, only when alone. But then, forget I ever was."

"We make our own future, Hephaestion. We'll die together, staring out at the Athenian seas. No one will know where we have gone; king and chiliarch, and our bones will be all that remains, until the Western winds blow them out with the tide. Our children will have a story to tell their children, how we rolled the dice and won against Fate herself."

"There you go again," Hephaestion smiled, causing his healing lip to crack again at the edges. He did not seem to mind, but he was again becoming tired. Alexander could not fault him, for he tried so hard to remain awake throughout the day, but he needed his rest now.

"Sleep, Hephaestion. You're growing stronger each day. By tomorrow, you'll be as you were."

"You should not look at me like this," Hephaestion whispered, his eyes closing. Still, his mind fought his body, but Alexander knew well enough that his body was winning. Adding a few drops of a draught that soaked into his skin and caused him to sleep into his crèmes only worsened him. Alexander leaned forward, pressing another kiss to his forehead.

"You are always beautiful," the prince whispered against his skin. He then kissed his cheek, his eyelids, and as he did he heard Hephaestion exhale a breath. His chest slowed, his breathing falling into sleep. Leaning back, Alexander looked down at him. How, even now, could he look away?

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The doors to the great hall swung open, and as they did she entered, dark curls spiraling around her face, cascading down her back. Her jade eyes scanned the room, her face set in stone, and as she approached the king she clenched her jaw. She stopped just short of him, and with a sudden ferocity slapped him, causing his head to turn. Philip straightened, and then went to strike her in return, but she stepped back, avoiding his hand.

"Touch either of them again," she hissed, her eyes darting to Philip like a snake's, "and I swear by all that is decent, all that is within me, I will have you killed."

"Make no threats to me, Harpy!"

"You confuse threats with promises," the Queen said, turning on her heel and making her way back across the room. As she reached the door, it opened unexpectedly, revealing Cleitus, who stared at her as she did him –hatred and suspicion overtaking them both. Yet it was Olympias who reached out, placing a delicate, but powerful, hand on Cleitus' shoulder.

"Lie with men, if you wish," her lower voice forewarned, reaching only his ears, "but these are not for you. Philip is king, but to kill you would take not a moment of my energy. Do you understand me?"

"I would have your son already," Cleitus jeered back, his voice taunting her, though inside he trembled from her words, "were it not for that Athenian whelp he takes to his bed. I wonder, is the prince's mother as good from behind as her son is?"

"Too good for filth like you," Olympias answered, pulling away from him. She then brushed past him, knocking into his shoulder, but leaving him gaping. Cleitus watched her go, but then continued into the room, approaching his king. Philip signed another document before turning it over, and when he looked up he pointed to the door.

"She is going to be the death of me, not by her hand, but by her constant annoyances," he concluded.

"I told you not to wed her," Cleitus laughed. "Did I not take one look at her and tell you to turn away? She surely is a torturer of men. Think of your poor son, the lies she must fill his head with. You should not let him return to Pella."

"They go to Pella, all of the Companions. They are done here Cleitus. Alexander is sixteen, ready for battle. If he defies me again I'll send him, and him alone, to fight the Thebans. If he comes back, he can go against my orders all he wants, but if he does not, it solves our problems."

"Then you have decided to let his power grow?"

"He is a boy. How powerful could he truly be when compared to a king?"

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A/N: That is not a cliff hanger. However…I might not be able to update again until Tuesday night. I'll do my best to slide a few chapters in over the weekend –but I'm slammed this weekend, and might not have time. We'll see. Until then, drop me a review, because I love you (but not as much as Jared Leto, Jessica, or Jami).


	6. Six

**Title**: Defiance

**Author**: Baliansword

**Rating**: PG-13 / Teen Mature

**Chapter**: 6 of 6 …..yes, the last chapter……aww…

**Summary**: Fed up with Alexander's defiance, especially in front of foreign ambassadors, Philip will use any means necessary to break his son's spirit, even if it means removing Hephaestion from his bed, and taking him into his own.

**Warnings**: The usual. (Actually, I'm writing this as I sit here, so I don't actually know yet.) I trust you to make your own decisions. Really, I give you that trust.

**A/N**: Thank you so much to all of my reviewers, and to those that constantly support me each day, forcing me to write more. Also, I just gave some blood and have some vein issues going on, so it took a few extra days to get this up. Sorry, I've just been busy and such!

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Hand placed over his forehead, she waited for him to exhale again, her second hand placed firmly on his taunt chest. She closed her eyes momentarily and uttered something under her breath, something that Hephaestion could not understand. He waited for her to open her eyes again, and when she did he smiled slightly. He was not sure what else would be appropriate, or what else his body would allow him to do at the moment, the pain in his ribcage beginning to numb him. Olympias stared down at him as she wrung out a damp cloth. Placing the coolness over his chest, she then returned a confident grin.

"To whom do you pray," asked Hephaestion, waiting for Olympias to set a vial of liquid down. She rubbed the contents over her hands, and then raised her lashes in his direction. Such a nosy child, she thought, but for that she also appreciated him. He guarded her Alexander, kept him safe, kept asking questions when Alexander did not.

"To pagan gods," she replied coyly. "Don't worry, Father Zeus will not mind. And if Hera decides to fret, she'll trouble me, not you. Now rest. We will leave for Pella in the morning."

Hephaestion nodded and watched the Queen as she stood, leaving the room, taking her commanding aura with her. He then closed his eyes, his chest burning. Shutting the door behind her, Olympias crossed the adjoining room briskly, sitting down on a grand sofa. Alexander had not moved from his chair, but she had not expected him to. Pouring a diluted glass of wine, taking a sip, his mother stared at him, her emerald eyes causing him to shift in his seat.

"I told you this would happen," she concluded, setting her cup down and crossing her arms over her chest. Alexander continued to fold his hands in his lap. "Didn't I warn you about him Alexander? Your father is not blind. He knows well enough what boy-love looks like. I told you he would use Hephaestion against you, and look what he has done. That poor boy, the things he puts up with in order to protect you."

"I didn't mean for any harm to come to him," the prince replied, his voice lost somewhere from his couch to hers. She raised an eyebrow, making a _tsk_ing noise, and then shook her head. Of course he had not meant to, but what good was that to Hephaestion?

"Hephaestion loves you, Alexander, but you cannot love him more than you do. Do you not understand? Your love must be banished from your hearts, otherwise, you will both be in danger. Philip is king, yes, but you know well enough that he listens to Cleitus."

"And he would say that I listen to you."

"Of course," she hissed, opening a woven basket and removing a scarlet corn snake. The snake wrapped around her hand and then flicked its forked tongue at Alexander. "But a mother's love is different, it does not harm. I warned you not to love this boy for both of your sakes. Hephaestion cannot be used as a battling bargain chip whenever Philip wants to bend you to his will. Not only will you always cave, but Hephaestion will always allow it. And you, you must succeed your father, with an heir, so that you may be king. You must be king, Alexander, or it will be the end of both of us."

"I'll be king," Alexander defiantly retorted. He stood and began to pace the room, running a hand through his hair. "Hephaestion loves me, mother, and I love him. There is nothing in this world for me but his love."

"It seems like that now," she contradicted, "but soon enough you will find that there is more to your life than love. Alexander, your defiance does not go unnoticed, and while I understand your reasons to lash out against him, you must control yourself."

"Cleitus wants to harm Hephaestion, not my father."

"No? You think that Philip does not wish the same fate for Hephaestion? Do you think, my son, that there are nights when Philip lies awake in bed at night, thinking, and his thoughts come to blue-eyed Hephaestion, his tanned skin, his long hair, his perfectly carved features?" She took Alexander's face in her hands then, the snake long since roaming the floor, and gazed into his eyes, "How blinded are you to believe you are the only one Hephaestion attracts? Yes, Cleitus would love to bend him over his lap, spank him, show him who the boss is. He would love to run his hands up and down his body, kiss his lips, as you have, but fiercer, like an animal. But Philip, ah, yes, you know. Philip wants him as well, yearns for him, because he is yours. He wants what is yours."

"Stop this," Alexander whispered hesitantly.

"When your drunkard of a father lies with Pausanias, who do you think he sees? He sees only his backside, while closing his eyes, whispering Hephaestion's name. Oh, Alexander, don't be such a child. Your father is Zeus, not Philip."

"Stop," Alexander said, breaking away from her. He began to pace again, but was careful not to tread too hard, should Hephaestion be sleeping in the other room. "He thinks he can keep his crown, thinks he owns me, that he can send me here, order me there, but he'll not have Hephaestion. No one owns him!"

"And what are you going to do? Finally kill him?"

"Don't say such things!"

"Why not," she asked, taunting him in her own way. It was part of his madness, her constant voice in his head. He stopped pacing, and then slammed a hand down on the table closest to him. She smirked, her features evil. Yes, this was what haunted Alexander when he could not sleep at night. "He would have you killed, you know, if he needed to. Do not put it past him Alexander. He would have left you in the mountains for the buzzards to peck out your eyes had I not stopped him."

"I'll not kill my father. This is why they call you Harpy!"

"Harpy, perhaps, but living. Do you think Philip has not tried to have me killed, brought poisons to contaminate my drink? Do you think he's not tempted me with youths from all over the world, youths that he wanted me to fill my lonesome bed with so that I could fall asleep, only to have them brutally stab me to death. Alexander, you know nothing of the world. Have I failed you so as a mother?"

"I'll handle Philip," he stated. "But I'll do it on my terms."

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Silence had crept over the palace as the door creaked open, revealing a world now clad in darkness, so much different from the daylight realms of the palace. Entering the hall, the door slowly shut behind him, and after a moment he was carefully turning in the mazes. Coming short of the door, he slowly pushed it open, knowing that inside Hephaestion slept. As he entered the room he made sure that the door made no noise, that he did not step down too hard, that he knew his placement in the room. Slowly, he entered, like some demon from Hades' hall. Reaching the bed, he then reached out, his fingers lightly drifting over Hephaestion's shoulder. The boy did not stir. He was too tired. Suddenly, it mattered not, for a candle was set down on a table, now lit. Cleitus whirled around, and stared at the glowing area, but there was no one to be seen. Surely the Queen had been asleep. Alexander was in his own room. There simply could not be another here, not now, not when he was so close.

"Cleitus," a voice said from behind. The general turned, but in the dark could see no one. He turned again, and now a blond-haired youth sat next to the candle, eyebrows raised, hand drifting above the low flame.

"I heard…"

"Noise," Alexander asked, smirking. "Come, Cleitus, be honest. Tell me. Do you dream of him?"

"Watch your words –I could have you whipped."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Alexander picked the candelabra up and approached, reaching out and placing a hand over Cleitus' mouth to silence him from speaking further. "You're sick, Cleitus, you're absolutely abysmal. Leave, now, or I'll make sure that it is you my father takes his next anger upon."

Cleitus could not muster the courage to form words. Instead, he continued to glare at Alexander before he stepped past him, leaving the room. Alexander was left behind, staring after him. He set the candle down on the stand next to Hephaestion's bed and then reached out, placing his hand lightly upon Hephaestion's cheek. Stirring, Hephaestion's eyes soon fluttered open, and he smiled immediately.

"What time is it," Hephaestion asked, yawning. Before he could finish, Alexander had leaned in, placing his mouth over Hephaestion's. He leaned into the kiss, pulling Hephaestion to him as he did so, taking him in as if he'd never before been so close. He let his tongue swirl with Hephaestion's, let his skin begin to tingle as Hephaestion pressed a hand against his arm, holding him against him. He tasted salty-blood as the cut on Hephaestion's lower lip opened, but neither was interested in stopping. Instead, Alexander crawled into bed beside him, pressed perfectly against him, as if they were created for one another. Alexander could have asked for nothing more.

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Olympias stepped in front of the figure that crept through the hall, knife firmly tucked behind her back, her knuckles white from her grip. Smiling, she waited for Cleitus to recognize her, and only when he saw her face did she lunge forward. The tip of the blade instantly pressed against his scrotum, and she carefully leaned forward, whispering secretive words into his ear.

"I warned you," she whispered, "not to touch them. Did I not warn you Cleitus?"

"Release…"

"You're in no position to say anything," the Queen interjected, sliding the blade forcefully upward, creating a deep incision nearest his most important physical feature. Drawing the blade back, she then pressed a soft kiss of hatred against his stubbled cheek.

"Harm my son, or Hephaestion, and next time, you'll have nothing left."

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"Alexander," Hephaestion whispered, arms wrapped around his lover. Alexander's back was against his chest, and he was running his fingers over Hephaestion's arms, giving him goose bumps while doing so.

"Hmmm?"

"I don't want to go to Athens."

"What," Alexander asked, turning his head and glancing back at Hephaestion. Hephaestion, so beautiful. His eyes seemed to glitter more in the night, the moonlight the only illumination they had.

"I'd rather follow you to Egypt, and then to Persia, where we'll fight every great fighter, until everything is yours."

"You'll always be my chiliarch."

"I'd rather just remain as we are now."

"Then," Alexander replied, turning to kiss him, "we shall remain like this forever."

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A/N: I know. It was a short ending. However, with my current health, I'd rather finish it now before I forget about it, don't have time, etc.

Secondly, I know that perhaps there should have been more detail in there, etc., but I think the touch of vividness makes it good.

Third, I'll begin working on something new ASAP, which may be a few days, maybe a week.

Lastly, I love each and every one of my readers and reviewers. Please know that I appreciate the fan support. Let me know what you think of this, and I can't wait to see you again in another tale.

Michelle (Baliansword)


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